I
t’s always interesting when you decide to clean out your hard drive. You never know what you’re going to find. It’s like cleaning out your garage, basement storage, or desk drawer. Stuff for the museum curator.
That’s what just happened to me. The fable below, saved deep in my hard drive for 20 years, was passed along to me by a mentor when I was appointed to teach an executive leadership and communication course in FDU’s MBA program, starting in January 2003.
“Don’t forget to keep things in perspective,” said he. I’ve always tried, and as you do, things get buried deeper and deeper in your Documents folder. Then one day, you find them and, sure enough, there’s a reason you did without them all these years. That’s what delete keys are for.
On the other hand, you come across one you’re glad you didn’t delete. Like this:
A Fable
A boat docked at a tiny Greek village. An American tourist – decked out in his Lacoste polo shirt, Dockers shorts, and Topsiders – approached the Greek fisherman who had just tied up his boat. The American complimented the fisherman on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took him to catch them.
“Not very long,” answered the Greek, content with his day’s catch.
“Then why didn’t you stay out longer and catch more?” asked the American.
The fisherman explained that his small catch was sufficient to meet his needs and those of his family, provide enough to bring some fish to his neighbor, and sell the little that remains to a fish monger.
“That’s nice,” the American asked. “But what do you do with the rest of your time?”
“I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, and lay in a hammock with my wife. I paint; sometimes I give a painting of mine to a friend. In the evenings after dinner of fresh fish and fresh salad from my garden, I go into the village to see my friends, drink a little Ouzo, dance a little, play the bouzouki, and sing a few songs. Life is good here. I have everything I need and a little more.”
The American interrupted. “I have an MBA and I can help you. You should start by fishing longer every day. Get up earlier and stay out on the water a few hours more. You can sell the extra fish you catch. With the revenue, you can buy a bigger boat and catch even more fish. With the extra money, you will soon be able to buy a second boat and a third one and so on until you have an entire fleet of trawlers.
“Then, instead of selling your few pounds of fish to a middleman, you can negotiate directly with the processing plants and then, maybe even open your own plant. You can then leave this little village and move to Athens, Los Angeles, or even New York City. From there you can direct your huge enterprise.”
“How long would that take?” asked the fisherman.
“We could put a business plan together,” replied the American. Most likely 12 to 15 years at the most.”
“And after that?” asked the Greek.
“After that you’ll be able to retire, live in a tiny village near the sea, sleep late, fish a little, play with your grandchildren, take a nap with your wife, and spend your evenings in the village drinking Ouzo, dancing, playing the bouzouki, and singing with your friends.”
Perspective.
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